


Dance with me

by Kilted_Wolf93



Series: 100 Drabble Challenge [20]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Crush, F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Requited Love, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kilted_Wolf93/pseuds/Kilted_Wolf93
Summary: "I told you that I can't dance!" he snapped.He didn't even know why he had agreed to this in the first place. Or Sansa's interest in his behaviour towards women. But ever sense she had seen him talking to the serving girl with a fierce blush and shy stammer she had taken it upon herself to teach him how to talk to girls. And how to dance with them apparently."Nonsense," Sansa chirped, standing. She beckoned him forward. "Dance with me."





	Dance with me

**Author's Note:**

> 20 - dance

"No Jon. You're not paying attention!"

Jon huffed, stepping away from Jeyne Poole and turning towards Sansa.

"I told you that I can't dance!" he snapped.

He didn't even know why he had agreed to this in the first place. Or Sansa's interest in his behaviour towards women. But ever sense she had seen him talking to the serving girl with a fierce blush and shy stammer she had taken it upon herself to teach him how to talk to girls. And how to dance with them apparently.

"Nonsense," Sansa chirped, standing. She beckoned him forward. "Dance with me."

Before he could protest more, Sansa's soft hand was in his, her other guided him to take hold of her hip before settling her own on his shoulder. Jon felt his entire face heat up, his mouth opening to protest that this wasn't right because he could smell her rose scent of her hair and the lemon oil from her bath and he felt himself thinking if she tasted like lemons too.

Sansa squeaked as he wrenched himself away. He ignored her calls as he turned and ran from the hallway, a bewildered Jeyne barely managing to step out of her way.

He ran all the way to his chambers, slamming the door and locking it. Panting, he pressed his hands to his face and let out a deep, shameful moan.

"I don't want Sansa," he murmured to himself softly. "I'm not a Targaryen."

His dreams that night disagreed. Images of Sansa's lips against his own, and them, fully grown with five children playing at their feet. Sometimes, she would give him a coy smile and beckon him with a finger before disappearing behind his chamber doors.

"I'm not a Targaryen," he muttered again in the morning as he splashed water onto his face.

***

Sansa blinked in surprise at the hand that appeared before her, and her traveling gaze confirmed it belonged to her now husband.

"Do you dance now?" she asked, taking his hand.

"I am still terrible at it," he insisted as he led her across the floor.

This time, when their hands found their places, he smiled at her and pressed a forehead to hers. She gave him a hesitant smile back, her nose brushing gently against his.

"I'll teach you, my lord," she murmured, before she met his eyes again, her gaze soft with promise. "We'll look after each other, won't we?"

"Always," he affirmed, drawing her close to give her a chaste kiss on the lips.

He had many reasons to hate about being the son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

But having to marry Sansa to ensure peace would never be one of them.


End file.
